The Button Box: Gripping historical romance from the Sunday Times Bestseller. Dilly Court
tea in the pot, Clara. I’m afraid it’ll be a bit stewed.’
‘That’s all right,’ Clara said hastily. ‘Sit down, Jane. There’s no call for you to wait on me.’
‘But you work such long hours, and I’m at home all day. I feel so useless.’
‘Nonsense.’ Clara moved swiftly to her side and gave her youngest sister a hug. ‘You keep us all sane in a mad world.’
‘There’s nothing to eat.’ Betsy returned to her seat at the table and picked up the hat she had been trimming. ‘I’ve got to have this finished by morning. It’s an order from the woman Lizzie works for. Miss Lavelle promised it would be ready in time, only she’s not the one who’ll have to sit up half the night working by the light of a single candle.’
Clara glanced anxiously at Jane, who had always been delicate but this evening her pallor was even more pronounced and dark shadows underlined her blue eyes. ‘Have you eaten today, Jane?’
‘I don’t get hungry sitting down doing next to nothing.’ Jane picked up the silk flower she had been making and her nimble fingers added another petal. ‘You mustn’t worry about me.’
‘I’ve only had a slice of bread and dripping,’ Betsy said mournfully. ‘I wish I’d gone into service like Lizzie. At least she gets three square meals a day.’
Clara reached for the teapot and filled a cup with the straw-coloured liquid. She took a sip, trying hard not to pull a face. It was lukewarm and bitter, but it revived her enough to take command of the situation. She was the eldest and her younger sisters had been her responsibility since their mother’s death from the illness that had left Jane crippled. Clara went to retrieve her cloak.
‘Where are you going?’ Betsy demanded. ‘I need you to help me.’
‘We’ll all work better on full stomachs.’ Clara opened the door leading into the room that had once been their mother’s parlour and was now their bedroom. She returned with her precious button box tucked under her arm.
‘Not that,’ Jane murmured, her eyes filling with tears.
‘I’ve nothing left to pawn other than the clothes I’m wearing,’ Clara said sadly. ‘I’ll redeem it when Miss Silver pays my wages, but we can’t work if we don’t eat.’
‘It’s just a collection of odd buttons.’ Betsy tossed her dark head. ‘I don’t know why you keep it anyway, Clara. It’s not as if they’re worth much.’
Ignoring her sister’s last remark, Clara braved the snow to walk to the pawnbroker’s in Vere Street. She arrived just as Fleet was about to shut up shop.
He peered at her from beneath shaggy grey eyebrows. ‘Oh, it’s you. I suppose it’s the button box you’ve brought me, yet again?’
Clara slipped inside the shop, eager to be in the warm, if only for a few minutes. The thin soles of her boots were no protection from the cold and they leaked at the best of times. ‘How much, Mr Fleet?’ Her teeth were chattering so uncontrollably that she had difficulty in framing the words.
He took the box from her, opened it and plunged his mittened hand into the colourful assortment, allowing the buttons to trickle through his dirty fingers. Clara held her breath. It made her feel physically sick to see her precious collection manhandled in such a way, but her stomach growled with hunger and she was beginning to feel light-headed. They went through this ritual every time she pawned her treasure, and each time the amount she received grew less. She left the shop with enough money to purchase two baked potatoes and a bunch of watercress, but she had to run to catch up with the man who was trudging homeward, pushing his cart.
Despite Clara’s efforts Betsy remained unimpressed. ‘I’d have thought you could get three taters instead of a bunch of wilted watercress. I hate that stuff.’
‘Don’t be ungrateful,’ Jane said, frowning. ‘I like watercress.’
‘Then you have it and I’ll have your share of the murphy.’
‘Stop it,’ Clara said sharply. ‘You sound like two five-year-olds. We’ll share and share alike. Two po-tatoes was all the man had left in his can, and he gave me the watercress.’
‘I suppose it’s better than nothing.’ Betsy held out her plate. ‘It’s all Pa’s fault anyway. He only ever thinks of himself.’
‘He might win tonight.’ Jane took a small portion of the potato. ‘I’m not very hungry, Betsy. You can have the last piece.’
Clara took her seat at the table. ‘Are you feeling unwell, Jane?’
‘I’m just a bit tired, that’s all. But I’ll be able to finish off the silk flowers before bedtime.’
‘No, you won’t.’ Clara laid her hand on her sister’s thin shoulder. ‘You’ll finish your supper and go straight to bed. I’ll help Betsy with the bonnet and you’ll get your beauty sleep.’
‘It would take more than that to make me pretty,’ Jane said, chuckling.
‘You are by far the best-looking of all of us.’ Clara sent a warning look to Betsy. ‘Isn’t that so?’
‘Yes,’ Betsy agreed reluctantly. ‘You take after Mama with your fair hair and blue eyes and so does Lizzie, only she’s got a turned-up nose, which spoils her looks – in my opinion,’ she added hastily.
‘I’d rather have dark hair and eyes like you and Clara, and Pa. You must admit he’s the most handsome man you’ve ever seen.’
Clara and Betsy exchanged wry smiles. ‘You haven’t been out much,’ Betsy said, laughing. ‘But I suppose Pa is good-looking in his way. The man I marry will have golden hair and hazel eyes, and he’ll be very rich and never go near a gaming table.’ She turned to Clara. ‘What about you, sister? Will you wed Luke and join the Skinner gang?’
Shocked, Clara stared at her in dismay. ‘What do you know about the Skinners?’
‘Everyone knows that they’re the toughest gang in the whole of London,’ Betsy said airily. ‘I heard a customer in the shop talking about them this morning.’
‘I love Luke.’ Jane glanced anxiously at Clara. ‘He’s been very kind to me, and I worry about him. He shouldn’t mix with those bad men.’
‘I’m sure he can take care of himself,’ Clara said firmly. ‘Anyway, I have no intention of marrying Luke – or anyone, come to that. I intend to have a shop in Oxford Street and turn it into a department store like no other.’
‘You’ll need more than a button box to do that.’ Betsy reached out for the last piece of potato. ‘Does anyone want this? It’s a shame for it to go to waste.’
‘No, you have it.’ Jane struggled to her feet. ‘Thank you for finishing what I started, Clara. I think I will go to bed, if you don’t mind.’
‘Of course not.’ Clara watched her sister as she made her way across the kitchen to their bedroom, leaning heavily on her crutches as she negotiated the flagstone floor. ‘I wish I could do something for her, Betsy. It’s no life for a girl of her age, cooped up all day with no one but Pa to talk to, and he’s not always here.’
‘We’d be better off without him, if you ask me.’ Betsy pushed her plate away. ‘I know we don’t earn much, but he shouldn’t use our money to gamble on the turn of a card, or whatever horse takes his fancy at the races.’
‘You’re right, of course, but he’s our father. He can do what he likes, but not for much longer, Betsy. I swear I’ll make things better for us – no matter what it takes.’
Next morning the streets were ankle-deep in snow when Clara made her way to Drury Lane. She opened up as usual, but the only people braving the weather were those who were slipping and sliding their way to their places of business. Miss Silver